


I Get To Love You

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Canon compliant - except for season 8 because self care dude, Domestic, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair Washing, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Married Life, Nicknames, Not Epilogue Compliant, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Shiro is so in love, Shower Sex, True Love, and so thirsty, short haired Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 11:11:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18809827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: After a decade of friendship and years of marriage, Shiro felt pretty certain nothing Keith could do could surprise him, but he should've expected Keith to always be full of surprises.Or the one where Keith gets a haircut and Shiro is really into it.





	I Get To Love You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neyasochi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyasochi/gifts).



> Title taken from the song by Ruelle which is such a gorgeous Sheith song and you should definitely listen to it.
> 
> Sochi mentioned short haired Keith and I couldn't get this out of my head so I had to write her a little something. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you whiskeyandwildflowers for the fast beta and kind comments! <3

Shiro liked to consider himself a man who was hard to surprise. Especially by Keith.

Friends for over a decade and married for nearly four years, there was nothing about Keith that could surprise Shiro. He knew exactly what it meant when Keith’s nose wrinkled up and he didn’t want to taste whatever it was Shiro had cooked for dinner—no matter whatever else he might be saying. He knew that Keith had a specific outfit he wore on days he was stressed—Shiro’s old garrison sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants two sizes too big that hung down over his bare feet as he padded through their apartment with a frown. He knew that when Keith was trying to keep a secret, his lips thinned up on the left side and there was an almost imperceptible clenching of his jaw.

More than that, Shiro had already experienced what felt like a lifetime of being surprised by Keith. First person to beat his sim scores at the Garrison, first person to truly see past his disease, and first person to back Shiro up whether he was right or wrong. Shiro had been surprised when Keith had rescued him after crashing back on earth that first time, surprised to realize Keith had never given up hope or stopped searching for him. He’d been surprised to see how much Keith had grown and changed and been surprised that, despite his tarnishing, Keith still looked at him with stars in his eyes.

Shiro had been surprised when, time after time, Keith put Shiro’s life above everything else—including himself or the mission.

Keith had lived for him, then died for him, and eventually had been prepared to die _with_ him.

Even the _I love you_ had surprised Shiro, had shocked him. Or surprised Kuron. The memories had blended together in a hazy mess that felt too confusing and complicated for Shiro to understand. At some point he’d stopped thinking of the memories in his brain that belonged to Kuron as separate until the line between what they’d each experienced had become blurred.

Shiro could recall the moment Kuron had begun to love Keith just as clearly as he knew the moment he’d loved him. Granted, his own feelings towards Keith felt far less linear and a lot more confusing than Kuron’s, but they were entangled in his mind just the same. Trying to separate them felt like trying to find his way out of a spider’s web—awkward and impossible and doomed to suffocate him. Accepting them had taken time, but now they were a part of his consciousness the same way Black once had been or the same way Atlas was. Perhaps less so since Kuron’s were memories, not a sentient being. But they felt comforting in the same way—steady and unmovable. Most of them anyway. A few of the least savory moments of his life were still shoved in the far recesses of his memory—as dark and deep as it was possible for them to go—along with things like the arena and the astral plane.

Some things were better left forgotten.

Either way, Shiro felt as if very little could surprise him. _Now_ anyway.

The universe had spent a good chunk of Shiro’s life surprising him at every turn. Keith much the same. As far as Shiro was concerned, there wasn’t an ounce of brashness or bravery that could surprise him about Keith anymore. He knew all the things there were to know about Keith and he liked  that. Every memory, every scar—undeniable proof that they had survived _together_.

Which is why what happened next came as such a surprise for Shiro.

He leaned over the kitchen island, tongue between his teeth as he read the recipe for spiralized zucchini for the tenth time. It didn’t sound complicated and yet Shiro  was having second and third doubts about his decision to try and change up pasta night after a trip to the farmers market. What had seemed like a brilliant idea at ten a.m., strolling through the bustling street and adding food to his bag, now seemed like an insurmountable task.

He steeled his shoulders, eyeing the spiralizer with no fair amount of distaste before reaching for the zucchini. He could do this. He’d fought aliens, for fuck’s sake! He could certainly turn a summer squash into faux-noodles. He grabbed the zucchini, attempting to affix it to the poky end of the spiralizer, when he heard a key in the front door.

“Hey, baby,” Shiro yelled as he heard Keith’s keys being dropped onto the table by the front door. There was a pause before Keith spoke. “I’m in here.”

“What are you cooking? It smells good.”

Shiro did his best not to preen. It was only a bottle of store-bought marinara, but he’d doctored it up with fresh garlic cooked in butter. Shiro was pretty sure after a long day of training with the Blades, Keith would be hungry enough to even eat space goo again little own Shiro‘s cooking, but the idea of making something that might please Keith still filled him with warmth.

“You’ll see,” Shiro answered as he heard Keith’s boots nearing. “It’s just the usual, mostly but—” Shiro stopped dead at the sight of Keith standing in the archway between their living room and kitchen. Keith was filthy—dirt caking his clothing and smeared across his beautiful face—but the most shocking thing of all was the fact that Keith’s hair was _short_. Shiro stood rooted to the spot as if he’d been frozen. When Keith had left that morning, his hair was much the same as it had been for the last seven years or so—falling into his eyes and sticking up in the back, long wisps of it curling down the back of his neck. 

Now though, well, now it was entirely different. The hair was still longer in the front, dark locks falling into his eyes with the adorable sprout in the back that never seemed to go down despite Keith’s valiant attempts was still standing up proudly. But it was styled more now, shorter on one side than the other and the long wisps that Shiro spent most of their evenings stroking were gone. Instead, the bottom half of Keith’s head was sheared short in a buzz cut highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the erotic lines of his long neck.

Shiro was so shocked by the change in hair it took him a full minute to realize that Keith’s Blade suit was singed in several places and there was a large gash near his right thigh.

“What happened,” Shiro choked out. The zucchini he held in his left hand fell to the counter with a thud, rolling off the edge and falling to the floor.

“I’m fine, Shiro,” Keith insisted, holding up both hands as if that might assuage the panic building within Shiro. He pulled his knife from his back and set it on the kitchen island, walking around it to stand beside Shiro.

Shiro inhaled sharply, his hands flying out to cup Keith’s cheek. “What happened,” he repeated.

“Ah, well the newest Blade recruits were doing their training, and I volunteered. Couple of them were a bit overeager to prove themselves. I’m pretty sure they either thought I was past my prime already, or because of my size they could easily overpower me. Don’t worry though, I kicked their asses.”

“I’m sure you did,” Shiro said, leaning forward to steal a kiss. 

Keith hummed into it, exhaling into Shiro’s mouth as Shiro deepened the kiss. Shiro’s hands began to roam over his body, subtly checking for any dislocated bones or possible bruising. Keith laughed, pulling out of the kiss and rising onto his tiptoes to gently knock his forehead against Shiro’s. “I’m _fine_. I promise.”

“You always say that though,” Shiro countered, giving up all pretenses and examining Keith in earnest. He lifted his hand to trace across the lines of the face he knew better than he knew his own—breath catching in his throat at the tenderness reflected in Keith’s eyes. His prosthetic flew around the back to feel up and down the line of Keith’s spine checking for injury, unwilling to take his eyes off Keith’s face.

Keith stayed still, violet eyes patient as he let Shiro run his hands along his long limbs and the flat of his stomach—unmoving until Shiro was perfectly sure Keith wasn’t injured.

“See, I told you,” Keith said, a familiar smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah well you’ll have to forgive me for my doubt since the last time you got injured and you said fine and you so clearly weren’t. Remember, you broke your arm when you fell off the hover bike in June and you said fine then too even though the bone was almost poking through the skin.”

Keith snorted. “It was only broken.”

“ _Only_ ” Shiro echoed with a shake of his head.

“Yeah, only. I was perfectly fine. The cast didn’t even stop me from racing Lance the next weekend.”

Shiro shook his head. “Baby, not even the threat of death could have stopped you from racing Lance that weekend.”

Keith shrugged. “My honor was on the line. He said he was faster than me. I had to prove him wrong.”

Shiro bent his head down to press a kiss to the side of Keith’s neck, whispering, “No one is faster than you.”

Keith’s intake of breath was audible, his hands flying up to fist in Shiro’s sweater as he choked out a breathy, “Damn right.”

Now that Shiro was sure Keith was safe and unharmed, the panic building in his chest dissipated as he allowed his attention to return to Keith’s newly cut hair. He pressed his chest to Keith’s and peered at the back. Keith’s body went stiff as Shiro grazed his fingertips along the freshly buzzed hair.

“So, uh—what happened here?” Shiro asked, repressing a shiver at the sensation.

“You don’t like it?” Keith asked, an unnatural lightness to his voice.

“I like it,” Shiro breathed, this time dragging his nails across the buzzed scalp. “It’s just surprising.”m  

“One of the Blades got a bit too close to my hair with his luxite blade and—well once a whole chunk was missing, I figured the rest of it might as well follow. Unfortunately, I’m not sure the other Blades are really qualified to cut hair. I said to cut the bottom off and well—” Keith shrugged as if it were nothing but Shiro knew Keith—he knew what the hunch of the shoulders and the slightly downcast eyes meant.

“You look sexy,” Shiro whispered, smoothing the flat of his palm across the base of Keith’s skull and dragging it up. He delighted in the way his hand glided over it, the freshly cut hair even softer than usual. There was a hitch in Keith’s breathing as he let the weight of his head fall against Shiro’s left hand.

“Yeah?” he asked, eyes dropping.

“Everything looks good on you. Don’t act like you don’t know you’re the most gorgeous man alive,” Shiro whispered, kissing along the side of Keith’s jaw. There was the barest hint of stubble since he’d forgotten to shave yesterday and despite the lingering smell of smoke and ash, he still smelled like the body wash Shiro bought last week—cedar pine and vanilla. It was intoxicating and Shiro wanted to bask in him. 

Fuck, he loved his husband. 

Shiro didn’t think he would ever tire of the way it felt to know that out of all the people in the universe, Keith had chosen to love _him_.

Sometimes Shiro still felt like a broken man, but Keith made him feel as if his shattered pieces had been repaired with gold—as if Shiro were stronger than ever. _Kintsuji_ was what Keith sometimes whispered against Shiro’s scarred skin as he lavished Shiro with attention as if he were the most precious thing in existence. In the moments where it felt hard to believe, Shiro would close his eyes and hear the truth in Keith’s voice, feel the truth in his touch. Keith was everything good and beautiful in the world, and fuck it all if Shiro didn’t feel stronger every time Keith looked at him.

Shiro kissed his way along Keith’s bared neck up to his ear which was now completely exposed from his new haircut—clearing his throat when he got a bit of mud in his mouth. He wondered what it said about him when not even _that_ was enough to get him to remove his hands or mouth off his husband’s body. 

“What?” Keith asked.

“S’nothing. Just mud,” Shiro answered as if it were no big deal. 

Keith barked out a laugh, hands on Shiro’s chest as he pushed him back. “I need to shower. I’m disgusting.”

“Mmm,” Shiro hummed, leaning forward to steal another kiss. “I must have a kink for disgusting then. Or maybe my kink is just you.”

Keith’s shoulders shook as he laughed, already shuffling his feet backwards toward their bathroom. “Trust me, beneath this suit I smell even worse than I look. It’s not nearly as erotic as you‘re making it out to be. I’m filthy.”

Shiro took two steps forward, following Keith closely. “Let me wash you then.”

“Shiro, I’m okay. I promise,” Keith said, reaching out to place a gentling hand on Shiro’s chest. His fingers were long, his palm solid and Shiro closed his eyes and focused on the weight against his thudding heart.

“Not like that,” he answered a moment later, opening his eyes again. He thought back to the beginning, to just after the war had ended and Shiro had held an almost compulsive need to ensure that Keith was safe. To care for him. To do anything to reassure himself that Keith was alive and breathing and with him. “I just…I want to. It’s been awhile.”

“Oh,” Keith breathed. “Okay.”

He tilted his head, giving an almost shy smile as he dragged his hand down Shiro’s chest to link his fingers with Shiro’s prosthetic, tugging him towards the bedroom.

Shiro followed Keith easily. He’d have followed him anywhere in that moment—so enraptured by the rise and fall of his chest and the lines forming at the corners of his eyes when he turned to smile at Shiro over his shoulder.

Somehow or another, they made it down the long hallway and into the bedroom, though Shiro was barely cognizant of how since he refused to take his hands off Keith and kept interrupting their journey to crowd Keith back against the wall and kiss him. 

Shiro grudgingly dropped Keith’s hand as they crossed through the doorway and into the bedroom, if only so he could watch Keith undress. His chest fluttered and his breathing quickened as he watched Keith reach back and tug down the zipper with practised ease, shoving the tight-fitting suit down the length of his lithe body. Keith was all lean muscle and compact strength and Shiro never tired of watching the way the muscles rippled beneath the skin. Keith’s body was lethal—every inch of him taut like a bow and ready to strike—but the moment his eyes turned on Shiro, he softened into something made of starlight. The strength in Keith’s body left him breathless, but the strength in Keith’s heart—fuck, that was something else entirely.

Once he’d kicked off the suit and his shoes, Keith stood before him without an ounce of self consciousness—naked as the day he was born with his cock already halfway to hard. When he turned wide eyes on Shiro, he made a noise in the back of his throat at seeing Shiro still stressed.

“Uh, thought you were gonna shower with me,” he said, hand on his hip. His lips thinned in mock petulance.

Shiro looked down at himself—still wearing his oldest pair of gray sweats and a hand knitted striped sweater Allura had given him for his birthday several years prior, which Keith fondly called his _old man sweater_ at any given opportunity.

“I got distracted,” Shiro answered with a shrug which was the truth. “The view was nice.”

A pink flush rose on Keith’s chest, and he ducked his head as he stalked across the room and back towards Shiro.

“You are incorrigible,” Keith grumbled, reaching for the hem of the sweater and tugging it up and off Shiro’s head without preamble. It ruffled Shiro’s hair, making the long bit in the front stand straight up. 

“You love me though,” Shiro answered, content to simply stand there and let Keith undress him. He hadn’t dawdled on purpose, but he wasn’t about to pretend that he didn’t get more than a small thrill at Keith’s capable hands disrobing him with determination.

“I do,” Keith agreed, looking down at the sweater still fisted in his hand, “even if you insist on wearing this hideous thing as often as possible.”

Shiro laughed, the force of it rumbling through his chest as Keith wrinkled his nose at the sweater and threw it as far across the room as he could. It hit the far wall and slid back behind the second hand dresser they’d bought at a flea market a few months after getting married.

“Hey, I love that sweater,” Shiro grumbled, still laughing at the pout on Keith’s face.

“I know you do. And I love a man who loves a sweater so ugly my eyes bleed. Some things in the universe defy all explanation,” Keith said seriously, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of Shiro’s sweats.

His stomach quivered as the pads of Keith’s thumbs pressed into his hipbones, barely resisting the urge to buck against Keith.

“So we both have good taste then,” Shiro said a bit breathlessly as Keith’s hand drifted around the back to cup his ass.

Keith dropped his forehead down against Shiro’s shoulders in silent laughter, and Shiro let his hands drift up the curve of Keith’s back, a momentary surprise running through him as his hand reached Keith’s neck and found no hair to play with. Instead, he dragged his palm across the base of his neck and felt Keith’s body shudder in response as the short hairs moved beneath his touch. Experimentally, he used his nails, trailing along the shell of Keith’s undercut before fisting his left hand in the longer hair on top. Keith let out a contented purr, arching against Shiro’s thigh and leaving Shiro with no question about whether Keith had liked that.

“Can I wash it?” Shiro asked, unfisting his hand and stroking the hair from Keith’s face.

“Only if you ever let me get you naked,” Keith retorted. 

“Yes, sir,” Shiro said seriously, dropping his hands from Keith.

Keith looked momentarily disappointed before resuming his previous mission of getting Shiro as naked as he was. Shiro’s feet shifted in the carpet as he widened his stance and watched Keith grab ahold of the waistband of his sweats and boxers, squatting down to remove them at the same time. Shiro held his breath, watching with wide eyes as Keith kneeled before him—eyes upturned in reverence—as he helped Shiro step out of his pants.

“Better?” Shiro asked quietly.

Keith nodded, rubbing the top of his head against Shiro’s left thigh and placing one tender kiss there before rising to stand. He held out a hand and Shiro linked their fingers, once again letting Keith lead him.

Shiro watched quietly as Keith fiddled with the settings on the overly complicated waterfall shower head, waiting patiently for him to get it to the exact temperature he liked. It didn’t matter how many times Shiro said cold water didn’t bother him, Keith always insisted on warming it up before they showered, and Shiro knew perfectly well that Keith did it for him and not for himself. He didn’t protest though—the small act of being cared for was a balm to his soul.

Shiro felt a smile pulling at his lips as he watched Keith reach out a hand to test the water, turning his palm over and nodding.

“There,” Keith muttered almost to himself. “Perfect.”

Shiro leaned back against the tile—cold against his back but well worth it—watching as Keith stepped beneath the spray of water. He reached up to drag his fingers through his hair, his hands flying out immediately. He clearly wasn’t used to the lack of hair either, and Shiro’s fingers itched to touch again. He wanted to memorize the way it felt— to acquaint himself intimately with how Keith looked now.

The water fell down in a cascade, droplets clinging to Keith’s long legs, the flat of his stomach and the thick, dark trail of hair that led to his flushed cock.

Unable to resist any longer, Shiro pushed himself off the wall and moved into Keith’s personal space, the oversized shower head coating them both in water as Shiro’s hands found their way onto Keith’s small waist.

“Took you long enough,” Keith said, turning his body towards Shiro—hands back on Shiro’s ass and fingers digging hard into the flesh as he pressed his erection against Shiro’s.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Fucking, yes. Definitely.”

“Was gonna wash you,” Shiro gasped, his own hands easily finding their way to Keith’s ass to urge him to thrust harder, delighting in the hard, wet friction against his own cock.

“Who’s stopping you?” Keith asked, removing one hand to grab the bottle of shampoo off the ledge and shove it against Shiro’s chest.

“Alright then,” Shiro groaned, letting his hands fall from Keith’s body to grab the shampoo. He flipped the cap open, squeezing a bit into his hands as Keith rutted against him and then unexpectedly stopped. “What’re you— _oh_ ,” he choked out as Keith pushed him back until his back once again was pressed against the tile wall and dropped to his knees. The water still hit his shoulders and the back of his body, residual droplets cascading down Keith’s face and his hair, clinging to his forehead as he tilted his head up to look at Shiro with expectant eyes.

“Thought you were gonna wash me,” Keith said, licking his lips and inching his knees forward until his lips were just inches from Shiro’s cock.

“God, baby.”

“Come on, Shiro. Do it. Take care of me while I take care of you,” he said, pushing his bottom lip out into a pout and dragging it along the slit of Shiro’s leaking cock.

Shiro bit the inside of his cheek, the shampoo bottle falling to the floor with a clatter as he moved his hands to Keith’s hair.

“I love when you touch me,” Keith said, breath hot against Shiro’s cock as Keith closed his hand around it to hold it still, letting the tip of his tongue snake out to lap at the cockhead.

Coherent thought left Shiro completely as he dug his fingers into Keith’s hair, gently lathering the shampoo as Keith finally opened his mouth and swallowed down Shiro’s cock. Keith hummed around him in pleasure, the vibration making him weak in the knees. Shiro wasn’t sure if the pleasure was from his cock in Keith’s mouth or his hands in Keith’s hair. Possibly both.

As tempted as Shiro was to close his eyes and focus on nothing but the way Keith’s mouth felt, the sight of his lips stretched around Shiro’s cock was too good a sight to miss. The universe could’ve been on the brink of imploding, and nothing in that moment would’ve been enough to get Shiro to take his eyes off the flutter of Keith’s dark eyelashes, the way his cheeks hollowed as he bobbed, or the sight of him rutting against air because of sucking Shiro off.

“So beautiful,” Shiro murmured, fondling Keith’s hair more than washing it. He’d spent so many years touching Keith, he felt certain he had every inch of him mesmerized. But the short hair felt as different as it looked, and it sent a thrill through Shiro. Not that he disliked Keith’s hair before, the opposite really. He’d always loved it—loved everything about Keith from the way he looked to the way his voice sounded. But knowing Shiro was going to be there for all the ways Keith might shift or change or grow in the future—knowing Keith had chosen Shiro as his partner for whatever their future might hold—that was more than he could bear.

It was more than just a haircut. It was Keith. Keith in every facet, ready to stand beside Shiro and love him. Keith opening himself up to Shiro in every way and trusting Shiro to stay by his side and love him.

Keith was everything good and beautiful in the world and Shiro felt overwhelmed by the sudden swell of affection that overtook him as Keith sucked harder and turned his eyes on Shiro. 

Shiro’s legs trembled and Keith’s eyes widened in surprise as he placed steadying hands on Shiro’s thighs and pulled off.

“What’s wrong?” Keith asked, misinterpreting Shiro’s hesitance. His hands stroked over the side of Shiro’s thighs, his every attention immediately on Shiro’s well-being.

“Nothing,” Shiro choked out around the lump forming in his throat. 

Keith opened his mouth, clearly not believing Shiro, who didn’t give him a chance to question him again. Instead, he reached down to slip his hands under Keith’s arm before hoisting him up into a standing position as if he were no heavier than a feather. Keith let out a noise of surprise which Shiro muffled as his lips descended on Keith’s. The second sound he made was less of surprise and more of pleasure as Keith’s left leg wound its way around the back of Shiro’s.

Shiro deepened the kiss, delighting in the way Keith’s lips parted for him as he crowded Keith back against the wall.

“What’s gotten into you?” Keith asked breathlessly when Shiro pulled out of the kiss to attach his mouth to side of Keith’s neck, just below his ear.

“Love you,” was all Shiro answered, his own body shuddering as he nipped and sucked at the pale skin of Keith’s arched neck, knowing there would be a bright mark there for everyone to see—just high enough that no shirt he owned would cover it.

“Fuck, Shiro,” Keith bit out, nails digging into his back hard enough to leave marks. “I love you too.”

Shiro sucked harder, deepening the mark as Keith’s nails scratched down his spine.

Shiro placed both hands on Keith’s ass and Keith hopped up to wrap his legs around Shiro’s waist immediately as if reading Shiro’s mind. The change in position was perfect and Shiro pressed Keith’s back against the wall, supporting his weight with just his prosthetic as his left hand found its way between their bodies as he tried to wrap his hand around both their cocks.

Keith’s cock twitched as his hips arched against Shiro.

“So perfect. So beautiful. Mine,” Shiro whispered, dragging his bottom lip over the hollow of Keith’s throat, kissing his way across the flutter of his pulse point and dragging his tongue across the bob of his Adam’s apple. Keith’s breathing became ragged, his heels digging sharply into Shiro’s lower back as Shiro continued to lavish attention on Keith’s neck, moving to the opposite side to leave a twin mark beneath his other ear.

“Yours,” Keith choked out as Shiro sucked the delicate skin between his teeth and stroked their cocks together. “Yours, fuck. It was always you. Always you. I’ve always been yours.”

Shiro’s hand trembled, wrist aching as he sped up the strokes, desperate to make Keith come undone.

Keith threw his head back, the thud against the tile audible as he dug his fingers under Shiro’s shoulder blade and let out a keening sound full of such unbridled pleasure it made Shiro see stars. He slammed his eyes shut, his head spinning as Keith came between them—his chest heaving and his legs shaking. Shiro continued to stroke them both, his own release close as his own neared closer and closer.

Shiro stopped sucking, shoving his nose into Keith’s neck and struggling to catch his breath as the pleasure coiled in his belly. He tightened his grip, pulling every drop of Keith’s release from his body 

Close. He was so close.

“Love you so much,” Keith whispered, no desperation in his voice this time—only sated pleasure as he stroked gentle fingers down the scratch marks Shiro felt blooming along his skin. And that, that was all it took—knowing he’d made Keith feel good. He could relax now, could let go.

“Jesus Christ,” Keith gasped as Shiro’s release shot out between them.

Keith let his legs fall to the ground, though he left his arms wrapped around Shiro as Shiro came back to himself—Keith’s hands still stroking reverently over every inch of Shiro’s body he could reach.

“Hey,” Keith whispered, nudging Shiro’s face with his own. There were two dark love marks high on Keith’s neck, half his chest painted in streaks of Shiro’s come and his cheeks were flushed red. His hair was sticking up on the top with thick blobs of shampoo still in it, and he had a fond smile on his face as he looked Shiro.

Keith was fucking beautiful.

“Hi,” Shiro said, unable to feel an ounce of remorse over his loss of control. 

“Hi,” Keith said again, then bit down on his bottom lip.

Shiro laughed, reaching out to brush the soapy hair from Keith’s forehead. “I didn’t finish.”

“S’ok,” Keith said. “We have time. You can do it again.”

“Alright,” he whispered, kissing Keith softly.

 _Time_ , Shiro thought. They had a lot of it. There wasn’t any amount in the world that would ever be long enough to love Keith like he deserved, but fuck it all if Shiro wasn’t going to spend his entire life trying.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813). <3


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